I grew up with two working parents,
and their schedules didn’t often align–
so my brother and I would spend afternoons and long summer days
at my grandparents’ house.
This was a place where you were sure to put things back where they belonged
and didn't leave objects out on the floor.
It wasn't because my grandparents were strict.
My grandmother, Josie, was blind.
And if we messed with that order,
and didn't put things back where they belonged,
it could cause confusion, frustration,
or even physical harm.
I remember as a kid trying to understand what it would be like to navigate spaces
without my sense of sight.
I would close my eyes real tight,
and I would try to remember the way my grandparents’ living room looked–
I walked with my small hands outstretched in front of me–
until I ran into a chair, and then a lamp, and then the wall.
It was in that moment that I was in awe of her.
On the occasion that my brother and I would be spending the entire day
at my grandparents' house,
we would bring along our VHS tapes,
you know pre-DVD or streaming service?
And many, if not all of those tapes were Disney movies–
we were American children of the late 80s early 90s.
We would sit on that bright red carpet staring up at their large TV
housed in an even larger entertainment center.
In between preparing meals,
my grandmother would come in and she'd sit down in her recliner,
and she'd say, “Tell me about your stories,”
referencing the action taking place on the screen.
Aladdin was one of our favorites to enjoy together.
I would describe the desert backgrounds,
the clothing on the characters, the expressions on their faces.
I can recall her smile as I described a “whole new world”
and that magic carpet ride through the clouds.
I wanted her to feel included, to be a part of what we were watching.
And those thoughts were a response to my feelings of empathy.
I had this unique childhood where I was learning about empathy
through my relationship with my grandmother…
through our watching of Disney movies.
But I know not everyone has an experience like that.
But I believe that it is important and crucial
that we provide our children with opportunities
to have relationships that foster empathetic connections.
Now as a quick aside, I know the word empathy comes with its own baggage.
Maybe in your circles it's a word that's thrown around so much
that you're sick of hearing about it,
or it's lost its meaning altogether.
Or, maybe you've heard it said that empathy is a “soft skill”
that needs to be shared with our students.
I attest that there is nothing “soft” or mooshy about it.
Instead, it is a critical skill to be honed
as we learn what it means to be human.
I'm an elementary art educator.
I teach my students about artists, culture,
and the purposeful use of art materials.
But I also see it as my role to engage them
in conversations about character education,
and specifically empathy.
But how do we often define empathy to our youngest children?
Think about it.
Often times you might use the...
“Walk in someone else’s shoes.”
Sure that works as a metaphor,
but now I want you to put yourself in the mind of a kindergartner.
A kindergartner that might go,
"Why am I putting on someone else’s shoes!?”
That is weird to them,
they don’t understand the language we're using for this really important topic.
And even a simplified definition such as
“understanding and sharing the feelings of others”
is really hard to internalize as a 5-year-old.
So instead, very purposeful conversations about practical, observable behaviors
is necessary.
How do I show empathy in the classroom, at the park with my friends,
to my grandmother,
to someone that looks differently than me,
to someone that acts differently than me…?
A year ago, I was sitting around with my colleagues at school,
and we were talking about character education.
We were developing a school-wide curriculum,
and we went around and around about definitions and explanations.
And then one summer night, it hit those of us in the room–
our eyes were opened to the fact, that the root of empathy lies in awareness.
Awareness: “a noticing of what is happening in and around you
so that you can make a choice.”
You can have a response, have an empathetic response.
But first, we have to have an awareness of ourselves.
I'm the grocery shopper in our family.
I take my list and enjoy the thrill of the hunt as I try to stay below budget,
which I mostly do.
And one week I was notified that we needed new napkins.
And I came upon these illustrated beauties.
They're conversation napkins.
And we got a real kick out of them as we went around the table.
Every night, we would go around at dinner time and answer them,
and have fun, and laugh together.
But it really got me thinking about a very purposeful teaching opportunity
I had with my own family.
And so, I thought, we often times talk about our feelings
"I'm happy," "I'm sad,"
but do we spend time together talking about why we feel that way?
And so I've gotten into the practice of asking my 5-year-old daughter
about her day at school in this way:
I say, “Tell me about a part of your day when you were proud.
Tell me about a part of your day when you were frustrated.
Tell me about a part of your day when you were really excited.”
Different nights I may ask about a different emotion, a different feeling.
My favorite, "Tell me about a part of your day
where you laughed so hard you fell on the floor."
And I'm also sure as the adult, to tell her
that I too, in that day, had moments where I was scared,
and moments that I was proud,
and definitely moments where I laughed so hard that I fell on the floor.
But you see, she's quick. She's real quick.
And one day, I said, “Tell me about a part of your day when you were sad."
And she said, "Well I wasn't sad,
but my friend Ellie was sad when she didn’t get to play with the magnatiles.”
See, the observed behaviors and feelings of others
have become a part of who she is as a person, and as a friend.
And it all leads us to having an awareness of others.
I was teaching a unit on architecture
when Hurricane Harvey hit Houston.
And it was to my fourth graders,
and I had several fourth grade students come to class asking questions
about how this natural disaster
would affect the buildings in the city.
And they were asking these questions, they led us to other conversations
and soon we were talking about how the elements
would affect the lives of the people there.
Soon the whole class was in conversation, and I sat back and listened,
as I watched them turn the story into about the art room
of the students in Houston,
and watching them almost see themselves in that place,
to then begin having conversations about what would happen to the art supplies,
and the furniture, and all of the art work that they had spent their time on.
As I listened, I wanted to provide them with another opportunity,
a way to artistically process the thoughts and the feelings that they had.
So, what I did is I introduced them to two artists
that cover items, and rooms, and actual houses with polka dots.
What these artists are doing is talking about our unity, about trauma,
about community.
And as a result, we created this 5 foot tall house structure.
Now there's a lot more here than just playful polka dots–
each of those dots represents an art supply
that a fourth grade student donated to a school in Houston.
See it wasn't health supplies, or food, but it was art supplies.
It had become very real to them.
The idea that our room, our art room is a safe place
where they learn about themselves, about community, about the world,
all while having fun.
And the idea that there'd be children in Houston
that maybe miss out on those opportunities
really resonated with them.
It became real to them.
See these thoughts, these feelings of empathy,
led to practical practice...
Their awareness led to practical practice.
I no longer sit on the floor in front my grandmother watching Disney movies.
Those days are long gone.
But now, I sit on the floor next to my 5-year-old daughter, also named Josie.
We watch as Aladdin and Jasmine take flight on the magic carpet.
And there's this moment where the carpet takes a deep dive
and Princess Jasmine braces herself in fear by covering her eyes with her hands.
As she does so on the screen, so does my 5-year-old daughter.
She is experiencing empathy for this animated princess,
she's experiencing fear along with her.
But it’s then that Aladdin responds to Jasmine and he says,
“Don’t you dare close your eyes” and he pulls her hands from her face,
opening her eyes to the experiences around her.
And as he does, so do I with my 5-year-old daughter.
I pull her fingers from her face.
May we open our children’s eyes to the world around them
to engage them in opportunities, thoughts, actions, and relationships,
that get them to not only “walk in someone else’s shoes”
but to live lives that consider others more than themselves.
Thank you.